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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29651988">The Sticking Place</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOuija/pseuds/KingOuija'>KingOuija</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cis Jonathan Sims, Claiming Rape, Cunnilingus, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Noncon Compulsion, PIV, Physical Struggle, Romanticized Rape, Trans Martin Blackwood, season 4 era</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:35:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29651988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOuija/pseuds/KingOuija</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon's going to give Martin what he needs, whether he wants it or not.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Sticking Place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You went to talk to Elias?" Jon looked awful and wonderful as he charged out of the stairwell toward Martin, dark hollows beneath his eyes, untucked shirt tail flying behind him.</p><p>Martin leapt, startled, like a mouse that had been caught in the middle of the floor by the kitchen light. "Jon!" Then quieter, between his teeth, making shushing gestures toward Jon. "You're not supposed to be up here."</p><p>Jon ignored his protests, backing him toward the wall. "Why did he agree to see you? What is he plotting?"</p><p>"I don't know, I don't know, and," Martin peered at Jon suspiciously, "how did <em>you</em> know?" <em>Either he's gotten better at sweet talking prison officials, or it's a dispatch from the Eye.</em> From the street preacher air of Jon, the hectic thread in his voice, Martin knew which was likelier.</p><p>"That's not important. What did he say to you?"</p><p>Jon's arms bracketed him against the wall, as he leaned down to peer beseechingly into his face. Martin bristled. If Peter caught them talking this intimately, about something this important...and all because Jon was desperate to hear from fucking Elias.</p><p>"Ask him yourself! Or Know it. I told you I'm not supposed to talk to you."</p><p>"You asked me to trust you, but you won't trust me with the reason why we can't t-"</p><p>Jon's eyes went distant. "The Lonely." He refocused on Martin, gaze uncomfortably sharp. "I knew Lukas's fingerprints were all over you, but I didn't know you'd realized it. <em>Why? </em>Why would you even consider giving yourself to him?"</p><p>Listening to Jon ask questions on the tapes hadn't prepared Martin for the feeling of being compelled. Had they all felt like this? Martin couldn't understand how that could be. Jon must have become stronger.</p><p>The sensation began, of all places, in his toes, but quickly it was everywhere. He was a gout of champagne foam--air and fizz. It was irresistible once it began. He could no more shut his lips around the words rushing out of him than stop himself mid-orgasm.</p><p>The words came from some separate part of him, and he understood them on the same time delay as if someone else had spoken them. When he understood what he'd said, the fizz that had coursed through him went abruptly flat, leaving him strange and cold.</p><p>"Because it's me or it's you, Jon, and it should be me. You want to live. You deserve to live."</p><p>Martin would never have chosen to put his reasons in those terms, but what he'd said must be true. That was how Jon's thing worked. His legs had buckled and he was clinging to Jon's arms, chest against chest. His face, resting beneath Jon's chin, went hot as he tried to push himself back to his feet and reassert his dignity.</p><p>Martin glared up at Jon. "You had no right to do that."</p><p>"I don't care," Jon said. His eyes were shining with something inhuman. Oddly, he was nearly smiling. "I don't need the right to save your life to do it."</p><p>"I'm not trying to die." Martin scoffed. "Go on. Ask me."</p><p>"Martin," and there was compulsion in Jon's voice already, just on the word that was his name, as though "Martin" was a question and the answer belonged to Jon. Martin could feel himself start to fizz again--he'd thought he'd be prepared for it, but it was just as dizzying as before--and Jon went on. "Do you want to die?"</p><p>"A bit," Martin heard himself say. "Just the normal amount, I think. I think being dead would be quite a relief sometimes. You know, when work piles up. Or on the weekends. " When Martin pulled himself together again--he'd managed to fall against the wall instead of against Jon, at least--he realized the trick Jon had played with the wording.</p><p>"I said you could ask if I'm <em>trying</em> to die. I'm not."</p><p>"Martin, you know there's no normal amount of wanting to be dead." Jon's hands rose to Martin's face, thumbs rubbing softly against his cheeks, like the motion could bring Martin's eyes up to meet Jon's.</p><p>Not a chance. Between the aftereffects of the compulsion and the intensity of Jon's attention, Martin felt too wobbly to risk eye contact. "You would say that," he muttered, scowling at the opposite wall past Jon's legs. His face felt too warm. All of him was too warm. He should pull Jon's hands away. He would. Martin's hands rose to Jon's wrists and clutched.</p><p>"Because I came back? I'm not sorry." There was a trembling defiance in his voice. "A-are you?"</p><p>Martin sighed. "Don't be ridiculous."</p><p>"Don't make me ask."</p><p>"It's not as though I can stop you. You've proven that already." Martin said sharply, feeling his stomach rise, preparing for the plunge. <em>Ask. Go on.</em></p><p>"Martin," and it was cruel the way Jon kept saying his name. Jon couldn't possibly feel the way it sounded like he felt, because it was sweet and desperate and hungry. "Are you...is it alright with you. That I'm still here?"</p><p>"No! It's not." Jon froze, stricken, but Martin couldn't stop his mouth. <em>Hear this, you bastard,</em> he thought, frustrated. <em>You deserve to hear whatever awful thing comes out of me for this.</em> "You're in danger every moment of every day. Peter could vanish you to where I could never even see your face again. At least when you were in your coma, you were safe. Nothing more could happen to you. And now you're back, and you won't let me protect you, and it's driving me wild. I can't stand worrying about you. If I could just make sure you were safe, I'd die smiling."</p><p>Martin stopped, breathless. <em>Is that the end of it, then?</em> Jon was still, needing a moment to absorb the tirade. Then fingers beneath his chin, lifting his face to Jon's. The tickle of Jon's breath on his lips as he spoke. "Martin, that's so-" Jon's lips on his, firm and warm and then gone too fast. Martin swayed into him, rising to his toes to chase his mouth. "-ridiculously naive of you."</p><p>Martin fell back against the wall.</p><p>"We're not living in some Hollywood movie, where a heroic sacrifice will save the day. You've read the same statements I have--tell me when anything good has come of someone sacrificing themselves."</p><p>Martin thought of two examples immediately, but wasn't half cruel enough to say the names. "It's my life to sacr-"</p><p>"And if you're so determined to throw it away," Jon took both of Martin's hands in his, "let me have it instead."</p><p>There was that same offness from earlier in his face, but stronger--Jon's hungry eyes, Jon's wild grin--they weren't the way a romantic hero should look. They weren't the way a human being in love should look. Martin knew there was something horribly literal, monstrously possessive about what Jon was asking,  but--damn him--Martin was <em>just</em> sexually weird enough it made him hot instead of cold.</p><p>"How do I get the Lonely off of you?" The Beholding asked. Then Jon shook himself, and became a bit more Jonish again. "I mean, how do I get Lukas to leave you alone?"</p><p>"How do you think?" Martin challenged.</p><p>And Jon asked again--ASKED--mouth millimeters from Martin's. When Martin came back to himself, his arms were thrown around Jon's neck, and he couldn't remember how they'd got there. He was wet to the knees, toes still tingling, face burning as what he'd just said echoed in his head.</p><p>"That's all?" Jon said, skeptical smile on his face. "I'm fairly sure I can manage that."</p><p>"Y-you won't," Martin choked, swaying. "You can't!"</p><p>Jon's hand trailed up Martin's arm, grasped his wrist. Dazed, Martin thought for a moment Jon just wanted a cuddle and a bit of hand holding. But he brought Martin's hand between his legs, where Martin felt him begin to harden, lengthen against the heel of his palm. "I can, you see," Jon said factually.</p><p>"You've got to be fucking kidding! You can't, Jon!" Martin realized his hand had unconsciously curled around Jon's cock through the fabric of his trousers--it pulsed warm and lively against his fingers--and he snatched it back. His head was swimming from the closeness of Jon and the warm, melting susceptibility of his own uncooperative body.</p><p>"You've no idea what I'm capable of. No idea at all." Jon's breath was on Martin's cheek, the tip of his nose alongside Martin's, eyes so close to Martin's they trebled in his sight. Then drifted back to merge into one eye, hotter and hungrier than a mouth.</p><p>He cracked Jon across the face before Jon could anticipate it. His hand hurt with the impact. He wasn't expecting the twinge that ran like a hot needle from wrist to elbow, but Jon hurt worse. Martin was stoutly built, especially through the arms and shoulders, and Jon had bent double like a broken reed at the slap. Martin watched him wobble, catch himself with a hand on the tile of the hallway floor, and--</p><p>
  <em>He'll be fine, idiot, RUN!</em>
</p><p>Martin got three or four steps toward the stairs, flat soles of his work shoes skidding, when he was arrested so suddenly, he nearly fell backwards.</p><p>"Stop," Jon had said, and Martin had. Never mind that "stop" wasn't a question, why should any part of this be fair? Muscles locked vise tight, eyes unblinking, lungs pushing shallowly against ribs suddenly rigid as clam shell, Martin realized, hearing the patient approach of Jon's shoes, his thoughts were moving slowly, too. He should be afraid, but the closest he could manage was a dull exasperation.</p><p>Jon circled around to the front of Martin, hand on his shoulder, blood dripping from split lip to chin. He looked Martin over with dark eyes Jonlike again, full of soft concern.</p><p><em>Has it really come to this?</em> Martin thought.</p><p>"Can you breathe alright?" he asked Martin, blood flying from his lips to spatter--Martin couldn't move his eyes, couldn't see exactly--probably Martin's stomach. Jon glanced down, then sheepishly swiped at his mouth with his shirtsleeve.</p><p>"Not. Well."</p><p>"Sorry. I'm still new to this," Jon said. His fingers pressed the two pieces of his bottom lip together--it had split across the plumpest part--and they stuck, healing instantly. "Alright," he said, looking at Martin nervily, "why don't you tell me what you and Peter have been working on?"</p><p>Martin melted. It was more controlled this time, like Jon had checked his strength. He wasn't going to fall. Didn't feel like he was dissolving into fizz. It was more like the loose warmth of waking up well-rested in a late afternoon sunbeam. His knees unlocked, spine relaxing.</p><p>Martin tried resisting, but this compulsion, though less overwhelming, was just as implacable. His voice continued, calm and contemplative despite the fury building within him, spilling word after word from his mouth. He wanted to scream <em>I was going to send you the tapes, Jon! It all could have been yours anyway!</em> But Martin quickly realized his narrative hadn't been the point of Jon's question. Jon grasped Martin by both shoulders and backed him into the wall between Peter's door and the door to what had been, during Elias's tenure, third floor reception.</p><p>Peter was almost definitely gone by now, never given to lingering at the office into the evening. Or much at all really, but what if he wasn't? What if he was watching Jon kneel and unbutton Martin's fly and shimmy his trousers down over his hips--his narrative trance, Martin was frustrated to discover, didn't prevent him blushing--and was about to banish Jon to the Lonely forever?</p><p>But, Martin thought, air cool on his wet thighs, what if he didn't? What if no one interrupted and Jon just did this to him here in the hallway, him unable to resist. He discovered his knees could still tremble.</p><p>Jon finally spoke, voice soft as though reluctant to interrupt Martin. "Foot up." With no break in the flow of his story, Martin complied. Jon's hand fastened around his raised ankle, holding Martin steady, while the fingers of his other hand threaded into the laces of his scuffed brogue, then pulled his foot loose. "Other side." Martin frantically negotiated with his body. One leg! One reflexive sideways jerk of one leg to kick Jon out of the way, or just to kick him for the satisfaction of it.</p><p>But no. Jon his pulled left foot free as well, running a fond hand under the arch, and all Martin's stubborn body managed was a ticklish twitch from toe to hip.</p><p>Martin couldn't decide whether he wanted to watch it happen. He had the freedom, at least, to let his head drop enough to look down at Jon where he knelt among Martin's discarded things, hands loosely grasping Martin's hips.</p><p>His hair was still askew from their struggle, color high on his cheeks, blood still smeared across his chin. He looked smaller from this angle, staring at Martin's naked pelvis, mouth open like he'd forgotten what he'd meant to say.</p><p>
  <em>Not so easy actually doing it, is it?</em>
</p><p>Martin was certain if he could have interrupted his own calm description of Bernadette Delcour's sojourn in a world of yellow ash, he could have stopped Jon with a word. Utterly deflated him.</p><p>Then Jon looked up at him, eyes hot and determined again, and brought his mouth to the juncture of Martin's thighs.</p><p>Martin's spine arched, the crown of his head cracking against the wall…hard enough for stars? There were stars in his eyes, but there was no pain. No, it was just that much. And jesus, it wasn't as though he'd never been eaten out before. It was nice, it was fine to be eaten out. He liked it. Top three sex acts, sure, but it had never felt like <em>this.</em></p><p>He felt molten from his head to his chest, so hot and breathless he could have swooned if the compulsion had let him. His voice was breaking, high and thready. Martin didn't understand how the words were still coming out of him in any sort of coherent order.</p><p>From his navel to his knees, he was glowing. Jon was doing something incredible. Martin could feel the rhythmic push of it mashing his buttocks into the cool brick of the wall and away again. Jon's lips were locked around Martin's clit, each suck, each flick of Jon's tongue, pushing more of Martin into that ecstatic, devouring light.</p><p>When it swallowed him, the compulsion's hold over Martin's body was lax enough to allow him to curl forward, catching at Jon's hair. Martin's fingers tangled in it, and he seized enough control to fist his hands into the dark and silver strands. He hoped it pulled. He hoped it stung. It did something, because Jon groaned into him and flattened him against the wall, hands rising from Martin's knees to brace beneath his ass, fingers curling between his thighs from behind.</p><p>And there Martin went, bowed forward over Jon's head, quaking, leaking heat down his legs. Jon's hands were the only thing holding him up as he lapped at Martin like he wanted to suck down every drop.</p><p>Still the Extinction was sneaking out of Martin's breathless mouth one word at a time, two words at a time. Never mind that most of his wits had been blasted clean of out the back of his head.</p><p>Jon clambered to his feet, lifting Martin upright, pressing his shoulders back against the wall. "Have I got you now? Are you mine?" He was panting, smiling, face red and chin slick. Too breathless or too scatterbrained to compel. His eyes searched Martin's face with confusion as Martin continued with the Extinction talk. "Martin, that's enough for now."</p><p>There was compulsion in it this time. Martin's nerves sparked, and he jerked against Jon's hands, but the imperative must have been too counter to the spirit of Beholding to stop the flow of words.</p><p><em>Bastard. You stupid goddamn bastard,</em> Martin thought as he watched Jon work it out. He hated how cute it was to watch Jon think. To see his mouth form a little 'o' of excitement as he got it. That he'd need a new question to interrupt the old question.</p><p>The question he chose, to a dreadful lurch of Martin's stomach was, "Was that enough?"</p><p>Martin, having no choice, told the truth.</p><p>And Jon, so very accommodating, lifted Martin's knee, slung Martin's arms over his shoulders, unbuckled his belt and unfastened his fly, and eased Martin onto his cock.</p><p>A little gasp tore out of his throat as he sank onto Jon.</p><p>"Alright?" Jon asked softly, no compulsion in it.</p><p>"No! No part of this is alright!"</p><p>"You know what I mean." Slight frown. "Are you comfortable? Physically?" Jon lifted Martin's other leg as well, easing the stretch in his hips.</p><p>"How are you--" Martin had to focus on not groaning as Jon worked him up and down against the wall.</p><p>"H-how am I what?" Jon asked. Now that Martin had stopped resisting, Jon was back to letting him choose how to answer. Good of him.</p><p>"How are you lifting me?"</p><p>"I'm strong now. I'm stronger." Jon smiled at him. "You see? You don't need to protect me. There's nothing--" Strain or pleasure stole his voice. He let out a tense little noise from his throat and settled Martin more comfortably against him before resuming his thrusts. "--there's nothing you can do for me with Peter, do you understand? I'm stronger than you."</p><p>He was, wasn't he? He'd proven it on Martin's body.</p><p>Martin supposed it was a relief to have an excuse not to fight back. He let his eyes drift shut and tried to go limp all over. He wished he could relax inside, let himself become an unresisting tube for Jon to thrust into. Deny Jon his involvement as much as possible. But he couldn't help but flutter around each fresh incursion, body like some wild animal pinned and struggling and too stupid to play dead.</p><p>Martin raised his hands to his face. Smeared his hands across his eyes, his cheeks. It shifted his center of gravity such that Jon had to pause and rebalance him again.</p><p>"Is…is this really doing it for you?" Martin's voice didn't come out as bitter as he'd have liked. He just sounded tired. He let his arms drop again to hang by his sides.</p><p>"Don't worry about me, Martin." Jon paused, letting Martin's body rest a moment. He was so deeply sheathed inside him, fit him so exactly, swollen to Martin's contours, it felt like they had grown together.  Martin could feel the throb of his heart in his cunt, like it'd had to move to where it could push blood for both their bodies. "Let's get you what you need first."</p><p>"You don't have to do this!" Martin pleaded, trying to appeal to Jon with his eyes.</p><p>"I <em>want</em> to," Jon insisted. He smiled again, softly. "If it's for you."</p><p>Martin felt Jon's lips on his neck, warm and moist. His breath hitched.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If it's for you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jon moved steadily inside him as he sucked a throbbing bruise into the side of Martin's neck. It was the kind of thing Martin used to masturbate to, and he wondered whether Jon knew that. Hot tears sheeted down his face like the tap had broken off. Martin was getting numb in his thighs and ass and between his legs. He could no longer feel the separation between him and Jon, no more fluttering resistance. Jon must be holding his knees too high.</p><p>Jon finally pulled his head away and dismay broke across his face at the state of Martin.</p><p>"It-it's not...is it not--" his voice wavered, but Martin didn't help him. "W-what am I doing wrong? What do I need to do?"</p><p>"Let me down. Please. And just go."</p><p>Jon's big, sad eyes searched his face, his mouth slightly open. Then he frowned, frustrated. "What do I need to do?" he asked again.</p><p>"It felt so much better when you compelled me."</p><p>Jon smiled, relieved, and did.</p>
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